Metastisis

me·tas·ta·size
məˈtastəˌsīz/
verb (used without object), me·tas·ta·sized, me·tas·ta·siz·ing.

1. Pathology.(of malignant cells or disease-producing organisms) to spread to other parts of the body by way of the blood or lymphatic vessels or membranous surfaces.

2. to spread injuriously:

3. to transform, especially into a dangerous form.

Long after
I excised you,
the after effects
remained​.
For months
I carved​ out chunks
of necrotic flesh
until I saw the
raw, pink
tissue beneath.

I've had heartbreaks before.
Trials,
losses, and
devastations,
but never have I
been so depleted
by another.

The metastisis of you
spread
from heart
to organs
to blood
to bone,
deeply taking up residence.
Extreme measures
were required.

Radical amputation
followed by chemotherapy,
my only choice,
but worthwhile
considering
the alternative
of allowing
that cancer to
continue to wreck havoc
in my being,
my family,
my world.

Although the price
of severing you
was dear,
and I continue to
dig my way clear,
the gratitude
for losing
the necrotic limb
that was us
is great
and the poison
required
to cleanse me
of you
flows sweetly
through my veins.

Remission
will be mine. 

~ Mk Michaels

Not Disappointed

Hoping for one outcome,
but finding another
it is highly possible 
to spend too much time looking at the closed-door,
not noticing the  open window.

Sheer curtains billowing,
fresh breezes blowing softly
across bare feet
tip-toeing across 
sun-bleached wooden floors,
the scent of tea olives
tickling,
and the sound of birds
trilling their joy.

Fool,
bask in the light of today
for climbing out a window
may prove to be far better than
any threshold you could have imagined. 

~ Mk Michaels

Published Works

A running list of published works

 

 

 

 

 

Rebelle Society               

The Courage to Live Box-less ~ getting outside the label labyrinth                  

             http://www.rebellesociety.com/2013/11/29/the-courage-to-live-box-less-getting-outside-the-label-labyrinth/

Kintsukuoi ~ broken open and reborn    

http://www.rebellesociety.com/2014/03/31/kintsukuroi-broken-open-and-reborn/

Gandhi's Family Portrait              

http://www.rebellesociety.com/2014/07/20/gandhis-family-portrait/

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elephant Journal             

A Thank You Note to Your Ex-Lover         

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2014/12/a-thank-you-note-to-your-ex-lover-poem/

Roots and Wings             

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2014/12/roots-wings-poem/

Turning 50 Without You               

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2015/01/turning-50-without-you/

Echoes of Dylan               

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2015/01/echoes-of-dylan-poem-for-a-long-lost-love/

I Should Come With a Warning 

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2015/04/i-should-come-with-a-warning/

Her Voice            

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2015/06/her-voice-poem/

The Silence After            

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2015/06/the-silence-after-poem/

How in the World?         

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2015/06/how-in-the-world-a-poem-about-loss/

 

 

No Explanation Needed

No.

Fixer Upper

Unexpectedly Lyndon

LBJ

popped up 

this morning

just as I was enjoying

my morning coffee. 

Having closed that

chapter of history,

in theory,

his appearance

was not

a particularly welcome

suprise. 

In spite of

many favorable qualities;

liberalism,

civil rights,

environmentalism,

he stepped in

unexpectedly

and I was not

happy to see him.

His entrance

was announced by

one who has proven herself

untrustworthy

on numerous occasions. 

Alternative facts,

betrayal,

and ever shifting

stories

in which

the truth is very difficult

to divine. 

My morning coffee

sets the tone for 

the day's activities.

Today,

changing

my passwords

will top the list.

~ Mk Michaels

I Love Lucy - Valentine's Day 2017

I have an everyday religion that works for me. Love yourself first, and everything else falls into line. ~ Lucille Ball

Most of us are familiar with the television show ‘I Love Lucy.’  I grew up watching it and always enjoyed the hilarious situations in which Lucy would find herself; from the grape stomping episode to the one in which Lucy and Ethel worked in a candy factory and couldn’t keep up with the conveyor belt of sweets.  Good stuff and a happy, lighthearted childhood memory.

Consider this – if the emphasis of the show’s title is changed and the speaker is Lucy herself, it becomes a radical statement of self-love.  I – love – Lucy.  I love me.  I love myself.   I believe Lucy did love herself and, in this, set the bar for generations of young women to love themselves even when the chips are down, you find yourself knee deep in grapes, or the sweets are coming far too fast to manage. In short, she set the stage as an example of someone who could love herself even when life borders on the absurd.  For this reason and so many others, I love Lucy, too.

Today, on Valentine’s Day, I encourage us all to follow Lucy’s example and start with self love, trusting the rest will follow.  ~ Mk Michaels

 

Be the girl ...

Tomorrow, wear a trench coat and speak fierce truths....

Tomorrow starts yesterday.

~ Mk Michaels

The Middle Ground

 

Blue leather bound notebooks,
filled with sound bite starts

of poetry, prose,

and the occasional grocery list,

litter my bed.

 

In the dark of night,

paper crinkles

beneath me

as I turn over,

adjust my pillow,

find a cool spot,

and drift off to sleep

yet again.

 

The center of my bed

used to be reserved

for couple-cuddling,

fucking,

and the wall of pillows

I’d build when my latest

relationship fell apart

so the bed

wouldn’t seem so empty.

I never ventured there solo,

until now.

 

Now I occupy the whole bed

without apology,

taking possession of it

smack dab in the middle.

Stretched out, spread eagle

I sleep well these days.

Really well.

 

Curled up with my books

and my dog,

I am as safe as ever.

No need for someone to watch the cave door

for I am my own protector.

 

~ Mk Michaels

An Imbalance of Kindness

 

 

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference. ~ Robert Frost

 

 

 

In coming apart,

there is the tendency to be petty,

angry,

mean.

Whenever possible, I chose otherwise

for this is who I am.

I considered

you kind,

in the beginning,

until I realized that broken

trumps kind.

I know this now.

 

Endings are not amusing

for either party;

the ender

or the endee,

in spite of their relative differences.

 

The endee’s ending is obvious;

shock,

grief,

betrayal,

abandonment,

anger.

To end well takes

courage and a sense of self

you, unfortunately, didn't possess.

 

The ender’s is more subtle

and often overlooked.

No one wants an end,

unless it is the only option

and, for us,

there is no doubt

it was

the only option.

To end well takes

courage and a sense of self.

For me, it was important to

end well.

 

 

In spite of many, many experiences

as the endee,

this time,

I was the ender

and my experience

was anything but pleasurable;

loss,

deep sadness,

more loss,

and solitude,

all by choice.

 

This ender also chose kindness,

whenever possible

in spite of this specific endee’s

fictional account to the contrary.

 

Generosity,

in the face

of punitive

retribution.

Kindness,

when confronted

with injured cruelty.

Going high,

when the endee

went low,

oh so low.

 

Words and actions

intended to hurt,

from perceived injury.

An affair considered

in the midst

of struggling to build

our happily ever after.

Stripping away

tokens of love

now viewed as

a financial asset,

because you knew it mattered

to me.

Rubbing flawed anesthesia

in my face,

entirely unnecessary and

intended to cause harm.

…and it did

for a moment.

After the tears,

I saw it for what it was;

yet another act of

manipulation

in a long series of acts

which left me no choice,

but to chew off my leg

and end us.

 

I’ll admit,

when met with a barrage

of immature and cruel

intentions, I bit

several times, in fact.

I could rationalize

showing my teeth was deserved

warranted,

earned,

but I apologized,

ceased,

desisted,

and created distance

yet again

to shelter my soul

from the toxicity of you.

 

By and large, though

I chose kindness

and in taking

the road less traveled

it has made all the difference

for me.

 

 ~ Mk Michaels

Morning Musings

In this, my winter of discontent, spring has come early, earlier than expected and I am eternally grateful. 

The Tuscan sun is my companion and I find her warmth burgeoning up from my belly and building in my chest. Henry the VIII and poetry are my bedfellows and don't mind that I sleep in the center now. Morning coffee, resplendent with the alluring notes of Hawaii, slips down my throat warming me through and through. Birds outside trill their happiness for an early morning rain which replenished their bath. I make a note to fill the bird feeders in appreciation for their song.

For the first time , in a long time, I am intensely thankful for those who are no longer here for no longer being here. I am thankful for the quiet and peace their absence brings. I am thankful the only demons in my bed are mine, for I know them and know the pace of their walk.

As peace has returned so have my words and I greet them like long-lost friends. We sit together amiably and share the bounty of our table. The words have brought with them newfound love; hearth and home, flavors and friends, adventure and awe.  In this, I envision creating new words to describe new experiences, new people, new discoveries.

I am building a path to the deepest recesses of my heart even before I have met the explorer courageous enough to make the trek and build a home there. I am not for the faint of heart (in spending time with myself I am coming to realize this more deeply than ever), but believe a worthy match will be courageous enough to face her own demons as I face mine and, in time, nestle into the comfort of the 'we' of us.

In all of this, I feel a deep and abiding patience. There is no rush for I believe time and the universe are on my side.

~ Mk Michaels

Dad's Evergreen Home

It was the place I called home,

sort of.

Dad’s home

for nearly four decades.

 

After the divorce

I stayed there,

with him

Wednesdays and

every other weekend,

the typical dad schedule.

From the rock hard twin beds

to the displays of

circus wagons and magic tricks,

nothing changed;

Dad and his home were constants

in a life riddled with inconsistency.

 

Reaching adulthood,

I would visit

more often at first,

less so when

I was busy with my own family.

Never changing,

Dad’s home stayed the same

except for the time

he developed a crush

on an interior decorator

She painted

his beige walls forest green.

 

For twenty years,

those forest green walls

remained.

Dated,

but as constant

as the forests they mimicked.

 

Dad died a year ago

and words like probate and estate,

found their way into my vocabulary.

Those words clogged my throat

and I just wanted to go home

to the constant ever-green of Dad’s living room

so I could breath again.

 

The forest is gone now,

painted over

in a more marketable color,

or so I am told.

The forest has turned light grey,

the color of skies before a storm,

but the walls

enclosing my Dad’s home

were still accessible,

for a time.

 

At the closing table,

they disappeared too.

Those walls, like my Dad,

were impenetrable,

dated, but

always there.

Always.

Until they weren’t.

 

~ Mk Michaels

Regression

The woman I met

and brought into my heart
and home
was
smart, crazy smart
attractive, sensual
kind, generous
adventurous, a seasoned traveler
and steady.

Having survived a relationship
typified by ugly attacks,
deep insecurity, and
the assaults that went with it,
I needed and sought out
the perceived calm of her.

The connection was immediate,
intense and deep.
I saw a future
spanning decades,
until death,
a life in which we each
would love support one another,
activists in our own right,
the whole being greater than the sum.

…but all was not what it seemed.
I know that now.

She was a daughter,
so starved by her mother for affection,
she ate whatever was offered
even when it was toxic.
A constant diet of shame
about virtually everything
from what I could gather;
her body,
her skin,
her teeth,
her sex,
herself.
Thus an adult grew,
paralyzed by her own fears
and need for approval.
Still starving.

Although our start was strong,
the connection deep,

and the attention plentiful
based on the mere whiff of the perceived threat
that she would starve yet again,
she regressed.
She turned into a child
before my eyes;
her demeanor,
her needs,
her voice,
her mannerisms,
her tantrums,
her.

Childish manipulations
to get what she needed
commenced
and, I
rooted in my own need to have her stay,

flexed,

dialogued,
comforted,
reassured,
and showed up
until the day I couldn’t
anymore.

She turned into a child
virtually overnight
and, I realize in hindsight,

my lover
became a daughter of sorts,

she looking to me

to satisfy her,
complete her,
be the spark of life
that allowed her to thrive.

I am a great mother
to my daughter, my son,
and while I am certain this is part of
what drew her to me,
I cannot baby a lover
….and still be able to fuck her.

~ Mk Michaels